I sit here looking at the barrel of my gun.
It is the loaded, same commercial rerun.
Looping, NOW, only for a limited time.
Two shotgun shells genetically loaded.
So many pellets they can disperse.
Blending into healthy tissue.
Turning the good into the worst.
Inserting stress, not easily withstood.
Both shells are lodged inside my head.
Which direction will they decide to take?
How much time will they make?
Will I be crippled or lose my take?
As order grows out of chaos.
As new cells decide they need more.
As cells decide to grow for,
they are that part of me
Which never had enough.
Growing wild and free.
Digesting the toxins that have infested me.
I sat in front of the T.V.
I labored in front of computer screens.
I ate and drank what I did not need.
I slowly pulled the trigger inside of me.